Here There Be Nightmares
by DesperateMinds
Summary: Ten years ago Jack Sparrow was just beginning his rise to fame, leaving behind someone who thought she loved him. What happens when the time comes he needs her to go after the treasure of his lifetime? Set after COTBP. AU with no 2nd or 3rd movies. Jack/O
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is a blanket disclaimer for the entire story. Everything written here that you recognize as being from the Pirates of the Caribbean Trilogy (although this story occurs after Curse of the Black Pearl) belongs to Disney. Any songs or other borrowed informations will be cited at the end of the chapter in which they appear. Again, this disclaimer is applied to the whole story. Only original characters and plot line belong to me.

Waoifjaweoighao;werighnao;lrihgw;orighao;igrhnraeo;kibnvo;reaighnoa;ierg

What if you were in as much pain as I was? If you had needed me as much as I then needed you? What sort of lives would we have led, sort of people could we have become? If you had turned around, just once, and seen the tears filling my eyes, tears that have never been cried again.

Would it have made a difference if I had told you the truth: that I couldn't imagine a life without you? I suppose we'll never know. But what if we could? What if I could turn back the time, relive those moments. Would I do things differently, or would I still be too afraid? But too many years have gone by, and our souls are too many thousands of ages older. And, at this point, I guess the things that were never said never really mattered.

Life in Tortuga has always been somewhat, well, entirely, chaotic, but at least it's a familiar sort of chaos. Anything out of the ordinary spreads quickly, at least in the circles I move in. Which are a little out of the ordinary themselves, to tell the truth.

Out of all the women making a living in this disgusting port, there are very few of us who can make a claim to some other career besides that of prostitute or barmaid. Almost all of those would be jeered at by stiff intellectuals - including my own profession. Words like black magic, fortune telling, and curses are hobbies and idle interests for high society women with nothing more than a few children and some servants to occupy their time; to me, they're the food on my table and the clothes on my back.

I can recall a time when I, too, was enthralled by the forbidden subjects, bribing slaves to show me what voodoo they knew, anything that my parents had forbidden. Later, the very things I had hidden from the world would become my specialties and my only claim to an independent life.

My life is usually fairly quiet and, for the most part, routine. The apartment where I base my business is above a small shop where a "witch" runs her small potions trade. When I first moved in, I assured myself that the poor woman was completely harmless. A practicing witch too close by could cause difficulties for us both, and I had, and still have, no desire to incur the wrath of a truly powerful one upon my own person. My job makes you careful of things like that.

I could spend months at a time on one client, one case, never leaving my rooms except to buy food to sustain myself for the next week or so. My work is ninety-seven percent research, one percent talent, one percent determination, and one percent luck. Actually, one could say that the talent could fall under luck as well, because how one really develops any sort of talent in my field is a mystery.

There is, however, the occasional odd case where my presence is required on the scene, sometimes in a preventive manner, usually because the issue is of a more delicate nature and needs immediate attention.

I was awoken at the unthinkable hour of three in the afternoon on a Sunday by the old hag downstairs, for just such a request. A man, a captain, had been enquiring all over town as to where he could find someone in my line of work - but not just anyone. No, he wanted the best and was willing to pay whatever price it might require. The general consensus, it seemed, had pointed to me.

A girl can't resist that sort of flattery lightly, so I hauled myself out of bed (cursing the hangover I happened to be nursing), pulled on some clothes, and headed to the pub where I usually conduct my business transactions. With the sensitivity of my work, and the usual nuttiness of my clientele, I do my best to keep all my customers in the dark as to my personal life, and they are usually happy to oblige. A person does not often proclaim to the world that he is in need of services such as mine, not if he wants to make a living. Especially if he happens to be a sailor.

The first thing I noticed upon entering "my pub" was the unusual flurry of the bargirls. Normally, they would be exhausted from their night jobs; a barmaid's salary was scarcely enough to get by and prostitution was a popular substitute. Today, however, it seemed like the clock had jumped forward to night and they were ready to perform.

I, too soon, found the reason for their excitement.

Turning to one of the older girls, Gabriella, I asked what could be so exciting on a Sunday afternoon, knowing that Saturday was one of their busiest nights. The answer floored me. The infamous Jack Sparrow was sitting in the back, drinking rum, and behaving in a halfway civilized manner. No wonder they were shocked.

Of course, I had heard of Captain Sparrow; there are very few people in Tortuga who haven't. However, I had never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance, nor any desire of doing so until I met him in hell. But his presence was too much of a coincidence to be overlooked. Not many people can pay what I demand, and word of that gets around. To meet me, the money has to be assured, and potential customers are aware of that. Honestly, they're afraid to do otherwise.

Following that train of thought, it was reasonable to suspect that the Captain could very likely be my next customer, so I felt it necessary to join him at his table and ask him ever so politely to buy me a drink.

I couldn't know, at the moment, how much I was going to need that drink.

At every first meeting, sometimes for all, I wear a large cloak that conceals my face from view. Until I have checked out a client, I remain anonymous to him, using only the code name that I have been known by for the past ten years and shielding my image in shadow.

Therefore, it was I who got the first shock, upon seeing the man sitting before me. A man I hadn't seen since I was fifteen, when he left me in the Caribbean and never looked back.

Clearing my throat softly, I said, "Captain Sparrow, I think you had better buy me a drink."

Dark eyes, burned into my memory, squinted to see into the darkness of my hood, somehow meeting my own.

"You're Aradia?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"You could say that," I murmured, holding his eyes with my own, wondering what I should do. After a moment that seemed to take forever, I made up my mind and lowered my hood.

I had never seen those eyes looked so astonished.

"Arabella?"

"Jackson."

Grimacing a little, I added, "I think now might be a good time for that drink, Captain."

"**Torn" - Natalie Imbruglia**

I thought I saw a man brought to life  
He was warm, he came around like he was dignified  
He showed me what it was to cry  
Well you couldn't be that man I adored  
You don't seem to know, don't seem to care what your heart is for  
But I don't know him anymore  
There's nothing where he used to lie  
My conversation has run dry  
That's what's going on, nothings fine I'm torn  
So I guess the fortune tellers right  
Should have seen just what was there and not some holy light  
To crawl beneath my veins and now  
I don't care, I have no luck, I don't miss it all that much  
There's just so many things that I cant touch, I'm torn

I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel  
I'm cold and I am shamed lying naked on the floor  
Illusion never changed into something real  
I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn  
I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel  
I'm cold and I'm ashamed bound and broken on the floor  
You're a little late, I'm already torn


	2. Chapter 2

Even before the rum arrived on the table I knew this meeting had been a bad idea. My head reeled with a shock I recognized all too well. Gulping at the rum I tried not to remember when I started drinking. God, I hadn't thought about that in years.

Pretending not to see the deep brown eyes scanning me, I sought out the familiar face of my 'manager'. Matthew should have known better than this. Just as I was about to get really angry it occurred to me that he wouldn't. No one knew me from those days. Except one man. This one.

Adjusting my cloak around me I finally looked up, waiting for him to speak.

* * *

Across the table, Jack wasn't faring any better. Shock turned to amazement and then into something suspiciously like guilt. To dispel this new emotion, he fell back on his usual curiosity.

She looked different. After thinking that he mentally kicked himself. It had been almost ten years. Of course she had changed. Unruly auburn hair still framed a thin face, but it brushed narrow shoulders now instead of a narrower waist. The always strong cheekbones seemed even more prominent in her thin, pale face, giving her eyes a shadowed appearance. He couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light, but something in her eyes looked strange, a hint of gold rimming the grey he remembered all too well.

As she finally met his eyes, he cleared his throat.

"What the hell are ye doing here, Arabella?"

* * *

Hearing that name jarred me out of my silence. The tone he used didn't help much either, to be honest.

"Ara… it's just Ara now," I gulped. Feeling bolder, I added, "And how dare you speak to me like that?"

His eyes narrowed, probing mine with such force that it actually took an effort not to turn away. A small feeling of triumph filled me at that. I had become strong in the last ten years and my own eyes burned into his just as hard.

"I'll speak to ye any way I please, savvy?"

"And if you speak to me like that again you'll still be in the market for the services you seek. I assume we're both adults here. I think we could have a professional relationship… if you can afford it, that is…"

Watching him closely, I still hoped a little bit that I could get the rise out of him that I once did. Sure enough, I still had the touch.

"Can I afford it?! I'm Captain Jack Sparrow! O' course I can afford it. I'm richer than the king himself… or I will be, at least. With a little help from ye…"

Good. He could pay. Maybe I had been hoping, just a little bit, that he couldn't. That would make things so much easier, I just knew it.

"And exactly what kind of help is it you're needing, Captain Sparrow?" I asked cautiously.

"Well, I 'appen to be in the market for an assassin, as it were."

"I think you may be confused, _Captain_," I responded. "That isn't exactly my line of work, you see. However, I do know someone who knows someone who might be able to…"

"An' I think ye might be confused, _Ara_," he interrupted. "The man I need killed… he's already dead."

Oh shit. That _was_ my line of work.

"Hmmm, it would seem that I am the person you need, in that case."

"So I've been told… will ye be doing it then?"

A good question. Would I do it? This seemed like one of those on the spot cases, I could tell. So, the question was… yes or no? Could I work with this man? I didn't know. What I did know was that I really needed the money. Business had been slow of late and food doesn't buy itself.

"Yes... I'll do it. On two conditions."

My voice sounded low in my ears when I answered, like I couldn't quite get my breath. I hadn't noticed myself having any trouble breathing. It couldn't be nerves… I had gotten rid of those years ago. Drowned them in alcohol.

"Excellent! Then we'll just… wait, what 'conditions'?"

His brow wrinkled, almost making me smile. He never looked puzzled before.

"First, I want ten percent of whatever we find."

"Isn' that a lil' high, luv? After all, I only get 40 percent meself."

"You can't find this without me and I don't work for less than ten percent."

This might have been stretching the truth a little bit… I calculated my share by how much my clients needed me. Desperation had a way of driving up prices. And maybe I thought he'd say no. Maybe I was trying to give myself a way out.

"Take five percent out of your share and five out of the crew's. Thirty-five percent is better than no percent at all, agreed?"

"Alrigh' then. Ten it is. An' the other?"

I took a deep breath, slowing my heart that had unaccountably begun beating out of control. It must have been the first change in my heart rate in three years. Not much fazed me anymore.

"The past stays past, Jack. I'm not fifteen anymore and you're not the man I thought you were. A lot of things have changed. You don't know me at all, and honestly I'm inclined to keep it that way."

With a slight narrowing of his eyes, he replied, "I'm afraid that won' be possible, darling. I 'ave a condition of me own."

"Who said you got to make conditions?"

"Who said ye did?"

"You came to me for help. I can make whatever the hell conditions I want. You need me."

"Ah, true. _But_ it would seem that I can always find an alternative arrangement. Can ye?"

A crossroads. I could say no right now and walk out that door, never looking back. He had taught me how. But he had a point. Could he find an alternative? Probably. Could I? Probably not. Customers were not exactly plentiful in my line of work. What the hell? I'm nothing if not crazy.

"Fine. What is it?"

"An' ye'll do it, no matter what it is?"

"If it has anything to do with your nightly pleasures I reserve the right to hit you as hard as I can before stepping over you on my way out the door."

"It does, but not in the way I believe ye are imagining. Every night, I get to ask ye a question. An' ye 'ave to answer honestly."

Should I do it? He wouldn't ask the hard questions. He couldn't.

"Alrgiht. We have an agreement then."

"An accord, luv, an accord."

Pushing the hair out of my eyes I marveled at the smile he flashed. And flashed he did, gold teeth replacing the white ones I knew used to be there.

"Well, then, I believe I will ask me first question."

I waited as coolly as I could for what he could ask. What would this first question be?

"Wha' are ye?"

Surprised, I raised my eyebrows, pondering my answer.

"I am what I've always, been Jack. It's what I do that's changed. That's what you want to ask me."

"Well, then? Wha' exactly is it tha' ye do?"

Biting my lip I looking into his eyes.

"I study nightmares… hunt the things that go bump in the night."

* * *

"Black Roses Red"

Alana Grace

Can I ask you a question please  
Promise you won't laugh at me  
Honestly I'm standing here  
Afraid I'll be betrayed.  
As twisted as it seems, I only fear love when it's in my dreams  
So let the morning light come in and let the darkness fade away  
Chorus:  
Can you turn my black roses red?  
Can you turn my black roses red?

Drowning in my loneliness  
How long must I hold my breath  
So much emptiness inside I could fill the deepest sea  
I reach to the sky as the moon looks on  
One last year has come and gonne  
It's time to let your love rain down on me

Can you turn my black roses red?  
Cuz  
I'm feelin like I'll blame it on love

Can you turn my black roses red?  
Cuz I'm feelin like I'll blame in on love  
I'm feeling like I'll blame it on love


	3. Chapter 3

Groaning aloud, I gave up pretending that the bright morning sun wasn't burning my eyes. God, I had a hangover. I couldn't even remember the last time I drank that much. The night before, a moment after our meeting finished, I was left on my favorite bar stool as my 'business partner' went to seek out more enjoyable company. I, on the other hand, proceeded to drink as much rum as I could get in my stomach before passing out. It turned out to be a lot more than you might think by looking at me. I may be small, but my alcohol capacity is astounding.

Somewhere around glass six, Matthew came over to try and get me to go home. I vaguely remember trying to hit him before falling over, cursing, and starting glass seven. This morning I don't even know how I got home. That hasn't happened in a while either. I think this may have broken my semi-sober streak.

Speaking of Matthew, it was his fault I was even out on the street so bloody early. It was ten in the morning, for Christ's sake, and I'm sure I couldn't have made it home until at least four. But apparently someone else was in an even pissier mood than I was (probably over the attempted assault of the night before) and refused to put off my overzealous new employer. So, back to the bar it was, hopefully to find some coffee before my head fell off.

At the sight of the pirate captain, however, I almost decided to just get drunk again and not bother with the sobering up. The look he gave me encouraged me to reconsider that course of action, so I reached for the coffee Matthew had sitting out on the bar for me. Not that this was a routine or anything, it's just that sometimes I had a bad night and a few too many drinks. Usually it was enough for him that I made it into bed alone and got up the next morning, but today he frowned at me in an irritatingly father-like fashion. Deciding to ignore him I gulped a mouth of coffee, the burn of the hot liquid helping to clear my head some.

"I thought you were supposed to be a pirate," I grumbled to the man watching me with a suspicious air. "Why the hell aren't you still in bed, sleeping off last night like a reasonable person?"

"Hmm…" he pretended to think. "It could be because I didn' do anythin' last night to sleep off. I 'ad things to do, as I thought ye would, too."

An eyebrow quirked at me, making me eyes hurt as I followed its motion. Seriously, how much had I drunk the night before? This was getting ridiculous.

"I saw nothing so pressing that it required my immediate attention," I shot back, still grumpy at being awake and not sleeping off my hangover.

"Well, lucky for you that I'm here to correct ye," he replied. "We leave tonigh' an' I expect ye to be ready."

"What the hell is your hurry? I have things I'll need to do, Jack! I can't just pick up in a day and leave for who knows how long. I have a life I need to deal with, you know."

"That's what I've been tryin' to tell ye!"

Exasperated, I turned around, resisting the urge to rest my head on the bar. I had seen the rag that particular piece of furniture was cleaned, in the liberal sense of the word, with, and had absolutely no desire to get my face anywhere near it.

"Fine, then. I'll be ready by eight. I'm going to need some help getting my things to the ship, so unless you plan on carrying it yourself, I suggest you bring along some friends to help."

"How much stuff can ye need?"

"I have materials, you know. The things I work with? Or did you just expect me to go in, wave my arms, and fix whatever problem you happen to have run into?"

The look on his face told me that that was exactly the scenario he had envisioned. Sighing I turned to walk out, leaving Jack and Matthew standing watching my back.

"Don't be late, Sparrow," I added before the door closed behind me. "Matthew can show you where to find me. I'll be waiting for you."

* * *

When Ara came through the door, Jack had worked to hide his shock at seeing her. Matthew had tried to warn him, but honestly he had thought the man must be exaggerating the state he would probably find her in.

Face pale and eyes bloodshot, she looked like absolute hell. Although her speech seemed unaffected, he could tell from experience that she must be experiencing a world class hangover. Shuddering, he tried to keep his mind focused on the business at hand. She had been right. He didn't know her at all. The girl he thought he remembered would never have drunk that much.

In fact, he was remembering the first time she had ever had drank. They had been sitting on the docks, him holding a bottle of rum while he teased that she would never take a sip. Sufficiently challenged, she had reached out her hand for the bottle, taking a mouthful that had surprised him. Making a face she swallowed, causing Jack to laugh. She had laughed too, occasionally taking small sips when offered, but leaving the heavy drinking to Jack. A lady didn't drink hard alcohol, and she was much closer to a lady then than the woman she would become. He had thought it was cute, her small act of rebellion.

Speaking while his brain was elsewhere was a common state for Jack and he carried off a perfectly reasonable conversation while secretly he reminisced. It was the statement that lingered behind her as the door shut that brought him back into the present.

"Is she like that much?" he asked curiously of the older man.

"Not as often anymore, no…" he said slowly. "For a couple of years there, she was pretty bad. Every pay check turned into rum. I asked her once, why she did it. You know what she told me? Beer was too mild and vodka burned too much. I never pushed the question any further."

"How long 'ave ye known 'er?"

"Must be close to six years now. Met her in church of all places. You don't find too many people in a church around here, so I asked her what she was doing. 'Praying for guidance,' she said. I asked her what kind of guidance, and she says, 'The kind that will pay my bills for me and make me coffee when I drink too much.' So I say, if that's all you need, I think you just found it. I've taken care of her ever since. She drinks, sleeps, and tries to find as much trouble as possible while I keep her in work and coffee. The pay is good, what with the bar on the side, although I can hardly keep in rum for the life of me."

Jack listened intently to this description, frowning at the picture. Would this woman be dependable? And how on earth had she turned into this?

"You'll learn to love her for it, son," Matthew said gently. "She's tough as a rock, that girl. Nerves of steel and can hold more alcohol than most sailors. Being a barman that's something I can admire. I think she cracked a few years before I knew her and the breaks it left are stronger than iron now. I've seen her sick, down, and almost out, but never defeated. There's something to be said for that."

* * *

"The Hardest Part"

Coldplay

And the hardest part  
Was letting go, not taking part  
Was the hardest part

And the strangest thing  
Was waiting for that bell to ring  
It was the strangest start

I could feel it go down  
Bittersweet, I could taste in my mouth  
Silver lining the cloud  
Oh and I  
I wish that I could work it out

And the hardest part  
Was letting go, not taking part  
You really broke my heart

And I tried to sing  
But I couldn't think of anything  
And that was the hardest part

I could feel it go down  
You left the sweetest taste in my mouth  
You're a silver lining the clouds  
Oh and I  
Oh and I  
I wonder what it's all about  
I wonder what it's all about

Everything I know is wrong  
Everything I do, it's just comes undone  
And everything is torn apart

Oh and it's the hardest part  
That's the hardest part  
Yeah that's the hardest part  
That's the hardest part


	4. Chapter 4

I stuffed the last item sitting out on my bed into my bag, looking around for anything I had forgotten. I knew there would be something. I can't pack to save my life.

Sure enough, there was my work log sitting on the desk. The one thing that I can hardly function without and it almost gets left behind. Sometimes I think I might be an idiot. Forcing it in the top of the large trunk at the end of the bed, I then knelt on top of that piece of luggage in an attempt to force it closed. Sighing I reached in and pulled out a shirt before trying again. One good push on the contents inside and I was able to get the lid closed, finally, and fasten the buckles before it could explode outwards. I kicked the stupid thing then cursed when I was bluntly reminded that it was made of wood. Have I mentioned I hate travelling?

An amused cough from the doorway made me spin around, reaching for the gun tucked in the back of my pants, hidden by my shirt. Seeing the pirate lounging in the doorway, I scowled before dropping my hands to my sides.

"What are you doing here?"

"Collecting ye, as promised."

"It can't be eight yet."

"It's not. I'm early."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're never early."

"People change, luv," he said lightly, stepping over the threshold and into my small room. "Good God, woman, ye weren' lyin' about yer… accoutrements… were ye?"

Accoutrements? Who thought it was a good idea to teach him those sorts of words. It could only get him into trouble anyway. Simply raising an eyebrow I picked up the canvas knapsack leaning against the end of my tiny bed. I was sure the room would look disgusting when I got back. I could hardly keep the mice out as it was.

He hoisted the large chest into his arms, staggering towards the door where he might or might not fall down the stairs.

"I told you to bring help, didn't I?" I bit back rather smugly.

"An' so I did," he replied, seemingly unaware of the peril he had put himself in with the stairs.

"Well then, where are they? Ooh, are they invisible friends? How cute."

Almost immediately I regretted my sarcasm, but not enough to do something crazy like apologize for it.

"Actually, they're outside. I though' ye migh' not want a bunch o' pirates standin' in yer bedroom, if ye get me drift?"

Damn. He had been trying to be nice. Good going, Ara, you just made an idiot bitch out of yourself. Congratulations!

"Thanks," I muttered quietly, softly enough that I could reasonably deny it later if the need arose. Another rarity… I hadn't apologized in years. Hmm. I couldn't even remember the last time I had felt the need to apologize.

Jack didn't say anything, but the tension in his shoulders eased some and he began whistling some inane song as he began recklessly down the steep staircase. Silently I debated whether or not I would mind too much if he did take a tiny tumble. At the very least, it had the potential to be unparalleled entertainment. Maybe if I gave him just a little shove, not too hard, like accidentally tripping and bumping into him…

_CRASH._

Damn it all! I had been so caught up in my mental image of a somersaulting Jack Sparrow that I missed the last step and went wheeling into a chair. Of all the paybacks! And I hadn't even pushed him yet! I'm not entirely sure I deserved that…

"Ye should really be more careful, darlin'," an infuriatingly condescending voice said as I picked myself up off the ground. "Ye can look at me rear end all ye wan' on solid ground, savvy?"

The man had the ego of a… I don't think there is anything with an ego that huge. Surely it couldn't hold its head up straight. Maybe that's what the dreadlocks were for… balancing out his over inflated self image. The idea cheered me a little, I must admit. What would happen if you cut all that hair off? An idea to ponder on…

Sure enough, just outside the door that opened out onto the narrow alley on which our little niche was situated, there were two men waiting almost patiently for the two of us to emerge.

"Ara, these fine gentlemen 'ere are Mr. Cotton and Jackie. Men, this is Arab…"

"Aradia," I quickly interrupted. "You may call me Aradia, or simply Ara if you so prefer."

"Cap'n, where'd ye find 'er? Talks like a right lady this one does!" the man indicated as Jackie smiled.

"Well, Jackie, I must say your name doesn't quite fit you any more than my diction fits me. How did you end up with a name like Jackie?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. Anyone would have been if they saw this man. He was six foot three, towering over his captain by several inches and covered in muscle.

"To tell true, my fam'ly named me Jackson, but the cap'n gave me a new name when I joined the ship."

I turned with a quizzical look at the much slighter pirate Captain standing beside me.

"Can' 'ave two Jacks on board, luv, the crew migh' get confused."

"Yes, Captain, I can see where you two might be mistaken for the other quite easily… after about half a liquor cabinet!"

"Thank ye, darlin'. Always nice to know I still 'ave my authoritative airs 'bout me."

Rolling my eyes for what must have been the tenth time in the last two days, I pulled my hood up and began walking in the direction of the docks. Moments later a ring covered hand rest on the back of my neck. I held back a shiver at the familiar contact by reminding myself that as a pirate this man probably got away with gestures like this all the time. Just routine, nothing special.

"An' where do ye think ye're goin'?" a voice cooed in my ear.

"To your ship," I replied coolly, slipping away from the warm hand and breath at my neck to continue my solitary trek.

"Ye know ye can' get _on_ the ship withou' me, righ'?"

"I'm sure you'll catch up eventually. And see, I'm already proven right."

"Are ye plannin' on actin' like this for the entire affair?"

"Acting like what, exactly? A professional? A woman who manages to support herself through means other than between her sheets? I know you can't have come into contact with too many women like the ones I mention, so I'll let it slide this time."

I knew the words were harsh, but, really, what did he think he was playing at? Did he really expect me to jump into his arms and pick up where we left off? Or worse, just jump into his arms?

"See, that's exactly what I'm talkin' about! Ye can' even say a single sentence without bitin' me 'ead off! 'Ow is this supposed to help ye work?"

"I think the last thing you're qualified to instruct me on is my work, Jack Sparrow! I have been doing this successfully for the past ten years, without your help I might add, and not once, not once I tell you, has someone complained about the way I do my job!"

I could feel the anger burning in my veins, pulsing into the gold in my eyes, speeding my heart and shutting down the logic areas in my brain. At that moment, I could and would have done anything that came into my mind.

"I though' ye were an adult! Can' even 'ave a civil discussion with yer employer. Don' forget, luv, ye'll be on _my_ ship soon, where anythin' I say goes. Are ye ready to live with that?"

Swinging my hand back I brought it up and slapped the man resoundingly across the face.

"How _dare_ you threaten me?! Do you think that just because you're paying me means that you can treat me in whatever way you choose? Well, I have news for you, _Captain_. There are things I can call that not in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine. Did you think I had stayed there on that godforsaken island while you went on your adventures? I've been places you've never even heard of. Threaten me again and your life _will_ be forfeit. Have I made myself quite clear?"

"Ye've made it clear that I'm not bringin' ye on my ship!"

"Wonderful! Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to take my luggage back to its origin, I will be leaving you now."

"Don' make a move, men."

* * *

Jack turned to stare at whoever had given the order for his men to stop that infuriating mess of a woman from walking away.

"Mr. Gibbs," he hissed, "what exactly is it that you're doing?"

"Stopping 'er from getting' away, Jack, I would 'ave thought that was obvious."

"And I would 'ave thought it obvious that I wished her to be gone!"

The aggravation in his voice did little to dampen the first mate's resolve.

"Jack…"

"Captain…"

"_Jack_," he plowed on, "we need 'er. I know Matthew. 'E be a good man an' known his stuff. If Matthew says we need 'er, then we need 'er."

"This is not really a good time for me, gentlemen," the scowling young woman sneered. She was really beginning to grate on his nerves. It wasn't like he'd really done anything to deserve all this. Well… maybe. But he had a good reason! Hopefully.

"Mr. Gibbs, I do not want to work with 'er!"

"I'm sorry, Cap'n, but that's the way things'll 'ave to be."

"She won' be stayin' with me, right?"

"O' course not. Ye won' be anywhere near each other."

Lifting his eyes heavenward, Jack turned back around.

"It would seem that I've reconsidered our position. The deal stands."

* * *

"What if I don't want it to?"

On my part, it was probably an idle threat. I had to have that money. And in some strange way, I was beginning to need some answers to questions of my own that had gone unanswered for a very long time.

"Too late. Ye're in a contract, as it were. Ye work fer me until such time as I says I'm finished. Savvy?"

"Fine. Let's just get this over with, then."

We walked in silence on towards the docks, and I listened to the sounds of the place that I had come to regard as home. Strange, how different this was from my first home. Not even comparable really. No, not at all.

Finally we reached the gangplank of one of the most beautiful ships I had ever seen, though I wasn't about to admit it. Something ghostly lingered around the well cut edges, beckoning to the scholar in me to define it, fill in the black spaces. Ignoring its pull, I continued my survey of my newest home.

"Wait a minute, Cap'n."

Again, the voice belonged to Mr. Gibbs.

"What is it now, Gibbs?" the pirate Captain asked impatiently.

"The lass is comin' on board?"

"Where did ye think we'd be stowin' 'er, on a raft?"

"I figured she'd stay 'ere, nice on land. Not bringin' 'er witchcraft and woman…ness… on the ship!"

"Please tell me you're not tryin' to talk me out of bringin' 'er now."

"Well, ye see, Cap'n…"

"No, Mr. Gibbs, today I think I will not be seein' whatever it is you think I should be seein' this time. She comes, nothin' else for it. Ye said it yerself… we have to have 'er. Luv, get on the ship. Mr. Gibbs, prepare to set sail."

Grumbling under his breath the unhappy first mate made his way to the helm where he began shouting out orders to the crew. I turned to look at the activity around me and sighed as I realized that this was my world now for however long it took to sort this ridiculous mess out.

"Might I ask where I will be staying?"

"Yer in the guest quarters below. I'll show ye real fast."

He hadn't been kidding about the fast part. He practically jumped down the steps before striding to a door and reaching to pull it open. Suddenly a panicked looking young man, several years younger than myself, threw himself in front of the door.

"Simon, what is it ye think ye're doin', lad?"

"Sir, I 'ate to be the one to tell ye, but… we 'ad a bit of an issue with this cabin while ye was ashore."

"What kind of an 'issue'?" Jack asked, brows drawing tight into a scowl.

"Well, someone seems to 'ave left the porthole open an' it… well, 'ave ye ever been in a swamp, sir?"

"Yes, Simon, I 'ave been in a swamp before. I would rather not see one again, however."

"In that case, sir, I suggest ye not open that door."

Jack looked livid. Honestly, I wasn't too thrilled myself. Where was I supposed to stay now?

"An' which imbecile left open a porthole durin' a storm?"

"Erm… beggin' yer pardon, sir, but… it were ye that did it," the boy mumbled quietly.

"Oh, bloody 'ell!" the older man yelled.

"Now might not be the best time," I interjected quietly, "but where exactly will I be sleeping if my room resembles a South American forest floor?"

"It would seem, luv, that ye'll be stayin' with me."

"Hide and Seek"

Imogen Heap

Where are we? What the hell is going on?  
The dust has only just begun to form,  
Crop circles in the carpet, sinking, feeling.  
Spin me round again and rub my eyes.  
This can't be happening.  
When busy streets a mess with people  
would stop to hold their heads heavy.

Hide and seek.  
Trains and sewing machines.  
All those years they were here first.

Oily marks appear on walls  
Where pleasure moments hung before.  
The takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this  
still life.

Hide and seek.  
Trains and sewing machines. (Oh, you won't catch me around here)  
Blood and tears,  
They were here first.

Mmm, what you say?  
Mm, that you only meant well? Well, of course you did.  
Mmm, what you say?  
Mm, that it's all for the best? Ah of course it is.  
Mmm, what you say?  
Mm, that it's just what we need? And you decided this.  
Mmm what you say?  
What did she say?

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.  
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.  
Speak no feeling, no I dont believe you.  
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.  
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.  
Speak no feeling, no I don't believe you.  
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.

You don't care a bit.  
You don't care a bit.  
You don't care a bit.  
You don't care a bit.  
You don't care a bit.


	5. Chapter 5

"There is no way in hell I am sleeping with you."

I must have already said it at least five or six times, but still I felt compelled to keep repeating myself.

"And I'm telling you that you don' have a bloody choice! It's either we both sleep in 'ere or one of us sleeps with the crew. Now, as it's my ship, I don't believe I'll be leavin' this cabin. So, where'll you be staying?"

"A real gentleman would leave the room to the lady," I snapped back, infuriated beyond belief.

"Pirate," he said bluntly, flopping down on the bed in front of me.

Grabbing my hair in my hands and pulling just hard enough to hurt a little, I dropped down into the chair in front of the large desk, cluttered with maps and old bottles of rum. What I wouldn't give for one of those to be full right now.

"Does that mean that you'll be staying, then?"

A groan escaped my throat as I let my head thump to the desk.

"Apparently it does," I muttered with resentment.

"Well then, I believe I'll just be gettin' all comfy. Care to join me?"

"You promise me there's really no other alternative?"

"Luv, it's really me or Mr. Gibbs, an' trust me, you don' want to go there."

With a sigh I stood up and turned to the man lounging on the bed.

"Can I borrow one of your shirts?"

"Can I ask why?"

"I need something to sleep in."

"You didn' bring anything?"

"I don't usually wear anything."

"Well, don' let me stop you!"

"Jack, please. Just give me a shirt."

I turned around to start rummaging for something to wear in my bag when a wadded up shirt hit me in the back of my head. Turning around, I saw that it was the one he had been wearing, leaving him shirtless before my eyes.

'Thank God I don't blush,' I thought before stepping into the bathroom to change.

When I emerged from the actually rather spacious bathroom, Jack had the lamps turned off and was in bed, blankets pooled around his waist. Walking around to the other side, I slipped under the covers and proceeded to get comfortable.

"I think it's time for my next question, luv," a deep voice rumbled next to me.

"Are we really doing that ridiculous game?"

"Yes! You agreed, remember?"

"So I did… well, what do you want to know?"

"What's with yer eyes?

"Oh, the gold? Well, it's sort of a long story, but the short answer is a shaman I met in Ecuador."

"Excuse me? A shaman? In Ecuador? I think I'm gonna need the long answer,"

"Oh, alright, if you insist. A few years back, when I was really just getting started on my 'career', I had this client who'd gone down to the Spanish settlements in the new Americas and, because he was an idiot, royally pissed off a powerful shaman. Rumor has it he refused to bed her, but that's just what his friends said. Her story was a little different."

"It always is, isn't it?" a soft chuckle interrupted.

"Do you want to hear the rest or not?"

"Yes, please," he answered meekly.

"Anyway, he wants me to go down there and convince her to take this curse off that she put on him. Made certain activities absolutely unbearable, if you get my drift."

A wince from beside me let me know that he indeed got it.

"Well, I go down there, talk to the woman, amazing sense of humor by the way, you should meet her pet goat, and realize that the man deserves that curse and even more! So, I go tell him he's going to have to find somebody else to do his dirty work, and spend a month with Teana and Chu, the goat, learning everything she's willing to teach me. Finally I decide I have to leave because Teana's tribe is starting to look at me a little funny, they're cannibals, bless them, but before I go she tells me that I can't leave without a gift. Turns out in their culture when a new shaman (she was insistent that someday I would take her place, even though she was only two years older than me) sets out on her first quest, the elder gives them a magical gift. So she gave me night vision."

"She gave you what?"

"Night vision. I can see you right now just as plainly as if it were day. The gold somehow produces its own light, just for my eyes. It's really quite useful, especially in my line of work."

"You don't think this Teana would give me night vision, do you?"

"Not a chance, Jack. Teana hates men. Well, not really, she just likes to play with them more than actually interact with them. I'm afraid she would curse you if you even asked."

"Oh… I can't believe you've been to Ecuador."

"You didn't think I was going to stay on that beach forever, did you? I've been probably as many if not more places than you have. Africa, the Americas, Europe, Arabia… the weather was beautiful there, hot and dry with lovely cool nights…"

"Why didn' you stay?"

"I've asked myself that a hundred times. I'm still not sure of the answer."

"Hmm…"

For a few minutes, the room was quiet and the sound of the breathing of the man next to me seemed to even out and slow. Then an arm sneaked across my side, attempting to wrap around me.

"Don't even think about it, Sparrow."

With a disgruntled noise, he flipped over onto his other side, and I closed my eyes, sinking into the softness of the mattress and letting sleep work away the tensions of the day that was finally behind me.

* * *

"The Child is Gone"  
Fiona Apple

Darling, give me your absence tonight  
Take the shade from the canvas and leave me the white  
Let me sink in the silence that echoes inside  
And don't bother leaving the light on

'Cause I suddenly feel like a different person  
From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion  
And I ran my hand o'er a strange inversion  
A vacancy that just did not belong  
The child is gone

Honey, help me out of this mess  
I'm a stranger to myself  
But don't reach for me, I'm too far away  
I don't wanna talk 'cause there's nothing left to say

So my darling, give me your absence tonight  
Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside  
'Cause there's no kind of loving that can make this alright  
I'm trying to find a place I belong

And I suddenly feel like a different person  
From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion  
And I ran my hand o'er a strange inversion  
As the darkness turns into the dawn  
The child is gone  
The child is gone

* * *

Sorry about the long wait and short update guys. I'm just finishing up my senior year and this last week was the last week of classes, so I've been busying studying and partying (partying more than studying!) and haven't really felt too inspired to write. I did, however, write a later chapter after this past weekend, which you will notice as being the one that prominently features vodka and a random hookup. Ahh, school trips and alcohol… Anyways, I hope to have the next chapter out sooner and to give it a little more substance. This is really just a filler while the plot bunnies in my brain get pulled back from chapter 20 or whatever… Hope you didn't hate it too much.

A/N Teana is loosely based off my friend Suzanne, my companion in mischief, who doesn't really enjoy the sort of fanfic I do, but enjoys any opportunity to get attention, and will be featured in later chapters. I borrowed the name Chu for her pet goat from a story we read in Spanish called "Bernardino". I don't know who the author was, and I have no internet right now, but I'll try and have that for you later.


	6. Chapter 6

I awoke slowly, something I couldn't remember doing in years. The softness in which I slept was as far as humanly possible from my bed, a structure that made park benches seem comfortable in comparison. Opening my eyes, my first sight of the morning was a pair of dark eyes hovering over my own. I stifled a scream and instinctively launched y arm into the air, connecting the heel of my hand with the nose of the person suspended above me.

"Damn it, woman, what the hell is wrong with ye!"

Oh shit. I bolted up in bed, hitting him again in my haste.

"Oh my god, Jack! Are you alright?"

"What do ye think? Do I look fine to you?"

"Actually, you look a bloody mess. Literally."

"And whose fault would that be?"

My eyes narrowed at his continued shouting, my concern for him fading with every yell.

"Oh, I don't know… maybe the person's who decided it would be a good idea to surprise a paranoid woman while she was sleeping! You're lucky I didn't have my gun on or I would have shot you!"

Temper flaring, I stalked into the bathroom and grabbed a cloth, wetting it in the basin of water before tossing it at the angry pirate captain, his handsome face marred by the blood running from his nose. Hoping I hadn't broken it, I bit the inside of my mouth while he used the rag to staunch the flow.

"Is it broken?" I finally brought myself to ask, trying to appear unconcerned as I moved to get clothes from my trunk, secretly hoping that he wouldn't try to hit me back.

"Thankfully, I think not," he growled, glaring at my back as I tried not to hurry into the bathroom.

* * *

Groaning, Jack pressed the cloth tighter on his nose and gingerly felt the tender area under his left eye where her forehead had hit him. He could feel it beginning to swell already and knew his crew would never let him live it down.

"Mr. Gibbs!" he yelled, pulling the door closed quickly before the man could arrive and see his face.

"Captain?"

The first mate's question filtered through the heavy door in some understandable confusion. It wasn't as though they made a habit of talking through doors.

"Yes! I'll be briefing our new crew member about our, erm… situation… today. If ye'd be so kind as to have food sent at the appropriate times and keep my ship afloat, I would be eternally grateful."

In somewhat puzzled agreement, Mr. Gibbs turned away from the door and made his way on deck, leaving behind his very battered looking captain hiding in his cabin.

Jack sank onto the bed as the pain in his nose began to subside, only to be replaced by a dull throbbing in what felt like the very bone of his skull. Leaning back against his pillows, his thoughts turned unbidden to the sight of the unusual woman in his bathroom as she stood wearing only his shit. The legs looked to be miles longer than her small height could possibly allow. These weren't exactly thoughts he felt comfortable with, considering their past history together. Or lack thereof.

He sighed deeply from low in his chest, the pain of his headache overwhelming his senses. Damn it, but he'd never thought he would see her again. It had been so long ago, but he still dreamed about those eyes sometimes. Not that he would ever admit it, of course. Never aloud. Maybe he had made a mistake then, but it had never crossed his mind that it was a mistake he would have to face. Listening to the noises coming from the bathroom as she dressed for the day, he tried hard not to imagine what she might look like at the moment. That was a path he had promised himself he would not go down.

* * *

Standing in front of the surprisingly ornate mirror in the bathroom, I laughed at the vanity it showed in the pirate captain in the other room. A black bandana served excellently to hold my unruly hair out of my face and I borrowed some of the kohl sitting out since I liked the way it looked against my eyes.

It felt good to be back in my work clothes again after so long waiting for a new job. The black skirt was the clever creation of one of my good friends; its buttons were attached loosely to breeches that ended just below my knees, hugging my legs tightly so as not to interfere with the material of the long skirt. In an emergency, one good rip would tear the buttons loose, leaving me free of the cumbersome fabric and able to move with ease. My fingers lightly brushed against the deep burgundy corset that covered a soft, white cotton shirt. I loved this piece of clothing. Really. Hearing Jack's conversation in the other room, I decided it was safe to join him again.

I folded his shirt neatly as I opened the door, choosing not to look directly at the man, despite the heat I could feel from his stare.

"Where'd ye get somethin' like that?" he murmured, making me smile a little despite myself.

"Do you really want to waste today's question on my clothing?"

"Actually, I was hopin' ye'd just humor me an' give me that one for free."

Rolling my eyes, I weighed my options. I could tell him something that was harmless enough, but it would open the door for more questions. Could I close it once it had?

"Wallachia, the region in Romania where some say vampires were born. It was a gift from a young countess who claimed to have taken it from a vampire she had killed. A thank you present, so to speak, for getting her younger brother out of some trouble. Tried to sell his soul or some nonsense like that… he made a horrible contract. I mean, if you're going to sell your soul, you should at least demand…"

I trailed off when I saw the look he was giving me.

"Maybe Romania would have been enough," I muttered, placing the shirt with my other clothes.

"So tell me if I'm missin' anythin' here… you went to Romania to get a lad out of a contract for 'is soul," he began before I interrupted.

"Actually, I went to Romania to talk to his sister. She made a trade with me. She'd give me her information on vampires and let me look at the sources her family has compiled over the years. They're what people in my field call Slayers. They're like the assassins of the underworld. But better dressed."

He just stared at me in a way that, in the past, would have made me very uncomfortable. Oh well, at least he wasn't crossing himself. I'd gotten that more often than I liked to admit.

"So, did ye learn anythin' interesting?"

"You're asking me about my work?"

"Is it really tha' surprisin'?"

"Well, yes. Most men just make their excuses and run."

"I'm not most men."

Tell me my heart did _not_ just leap. I refuse to fall for that crap.

"I'm your new employer."

Asshole. If I let it, I'm pretty sure that would have hurt.

Removing my journal from the trunk, I took a seat at the magnificent desk the room held. What I wouldn't give for a desk like this at home – or the place I tried to pass off as one.

"Well, since I'm here, I would say you might as well tell me why that is."

I refused to turn around and look at him, even though I knew he was confused and probably at least a little offended by my new attitude. What the hell, I'd done worse. It was obvious that he was trying to find a way to regain control of the conversation without acknowledging that he had lost it in the first place. I almost felt a little bit bad for everything I had put him through in only an hour. Even if he did deserve it, I prided myself on my professionalism and efficiency and this entire morning had gone against all of that.

Sighing, I turned back towards the bed.

"Look, I'm sorry about this morning. I really didn't mean to hit you. It's a reflex – I have to defend myself if I think I might be in danger. You would do the same, I'm sure."

He has no idea what it cost me to do that. I do _not_ apologize, but this man has brought together so many different parts of my life that I can hardly tell where it is I stand anymore. I don't even dare look at myself anymore, because I'm sure I won't know who it is I'm seeing. Or maybe I just don't want to.

"Alrigh' then. I s'pose we can get down to work."

Good, back into my comfort zone; although I'm not sure what that says about me as a person, considering the things that populate my mind when I work.

"So, first I'll just ask some standard questions to start my file on this case and allow me to figure out how I need to go about this."

He nodded and settled himself more comfortably on the bed. It occurred to me that I would probably be stuck in the cabin with him until the swelling of his face went down or he could think of a plausible story to tell his crew that wouldn't involve him getting beat up by a woman.

"Alright. So, what sort of manifestation are we dealing with here?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, what's the thing you want me to deal with? Ghost, vampire, werewolf, witch, living dead…"

"What?"

"You know, zombies."

"Oh, righ'… well, I guess it's a bit of a mix. See, there's this old sorcerer. Really old. Like, been dead 'round a hundred years old."

"I see. And what is it that this dead sorcerer is doing that you find to be a problem?"

"Why don' we 'ave some lunch and I'll tell ye the whole tale?"


End file.
